The Stone Angel Affair
by Crystal Rose of Pollux
Summary: Napoleon and Illya run into trouble when they happen upon a stone angel statue in an old, abandoned house. Meanwhile, the Doctor and Jamie head to that same house after receiving a strange SOS message.
1. Act I: The Statue is Definitely Moving

Notes: _the characters aren't mine, and the story is! I wrote this for a tumblr friend, who made an amazing gifset where Napoleon and Illya face the Weeping Angels and get sent back in time, and then this plotbunny just sprung from it. This is post-season 4 for Napoleon and Illya, and during season 6B for Two and Jamie; also, for Two and Jamie, this takes place after my "Smith and McCrimmon" duology, and briefly references it_.

* * *

"Tell me something, Jamie," a man in a rumpled set of loose-fitting clothes said, as he glanced at the young man wearing a jumper and kilt, walking along beside him. "Why do you always insist on coming to New York for our holidays?"

"Aye, well, fer one thing, there's so much t' see here. Secondly, it's one of the few places ye can get the TARDIS t' go t' on purpose," Jamie said.

The older man frowned.

"Oh, really—"

"Och, ye know I'm just kidding, Doctor," Jamie grinned. "I like it here mainly fer the food and the pubs!"

"It's always about food and pubs with you!" the Doctor scoffed. "Just once, won't you admit that the vast expanse of this city gives many opportunities for you to expand your mind, and that you secretly enjoy that?"

"If I did, it wouldnae be a secret, aye?"

"Ohhh!" the Doctor fumed. "You've been in a facetious mood ever since we got here!"

"I'm still laughing at how ye got stuck in that ventilator shaft on the space station just before we got here," Jamie admitted.

" _Harrumph_! I am a Time Lord, and, as such, I do believe I maintained my grace and dignity throughout that entire ordeal." He frowned as Jamie snarked loudly in response. "I shall ignore that."

"Och, it doesnae matter; there was nothing in that space station, and we have some time t' spend before we have t' leave—"

He was cut off by the sound of a newsboy holding out a copy of the evening paper.

"Extra, extra! Another mysterious disappearance in the Adelo House on Long Island! Extra, extra! Home by the Sea claims another victim!"

Jamie blinked, his good mood vanishing as the implications of the headline sunk in. He turned back to the Doctor, pointing at the paper.

"Doctor!" he exclaimed, quietly. "That's that demon house he's talking aboot!"

"Yes, Jamie, so I see…" the Doctor murmured. He dug in his pockets for some change and bought a paper from the newsboy.

"But that cannae be!" Jamie said, as they walked along, as the Doctor read from the paper. "We broke the curse on that house—that temporal disturbance in the cellar! That was what was causing all the trouble!"

"That well may be, Jamie, but that was in 1980 when we put an end to the temporal disturbance," the Doctor reminded him. "And time is relative, remember?" He pointed to the date on the paper. "It's 1968 now. As far as this city and that house are concerned, we won't rid it of the temporal disturbance for another twelve years—so, until then, people who wander near it will vanish."

"Aye, by the doing of that statue," Jamie said, with a shudder. "That statue of the angel—the one that sent me back in time…"

"Yes, I do wonder about that statue…" the Doctor murmured. "I know you described it to me, but I've never seen or heard of anything like it—and there's nothing about it in my 500-Year-Diary, either. Still, you may be quite right about that statue being responsible for the disappearances. We must look into it."

"What!?" Jamie squawked. "Go back to the demon house!? Och, as far as I'm concerned, we did all we needed t' do in that house! I'm nae going back in there!"

The Doctor sighed.

"I understand why you feel the way you do," he admitted. "I'm in no hurry to be going back there, either." He glanced back at the paper. "Ah, oh dear."

"What?"

"The United Network Command for Law and Enforcement will be looking into the disappearances this time, according to this article," the Doctor relayed. "Apparently, there have been enough of these strange vanishings this time to cause them to be concerned. It must be quite serious…"

"Aye, then it's settled—it's nae our problem!" Jamie said, nodding in approval. Let these United Network chappies handle it!"

"But if it is that statue involved, they simply won't know what they're dealing with."

" _We_ don' know what we're dealing with!" Jamie countered.

"Well, yes, that's true…" the Doctor admitted. "But we know more than they do—we know that whatever it is that makes the statue dangerous can be neutralized if something is looking directly at it—this thing is quantum locked."

"Aye, I'm sure they'll figure it oot; I did, after all," Jamie said. "Doctor, I don' want t' go back t' that place! If that statue touches me again, I'll be back dealing with Redcoats again, just like last time! I'll have no part of it!"

"Jamie, believe me, I perfectly understand…" the Doctor began, but he trailed off as they passed by the alleyway where they had left the TARDIS. The TARDIS was still there, but, sticking out between her front doors was a piece of paper. "Hello, what's this?"

Jamie reached the TARDIS first, pulling the paper out.

"It's a telegram," he said. "'To Doctor John Smith and Mr. James McCrimmon. Stop. …Stop what?"

"It means a full stop, Jamie—punctuation."

"Oh, aye. 'Requesting your aid at the Adelo House. Stop. Assistance required 6 May, 1923. Stop. Beware of the stone angel. Stop. INK."

"Ink?"

"Aye, in all capital letters."

"Sounds like initials, not 'ink.' But, nevertheless, you know what this means…"

"Aye," Jamie sighed. "Someone got sent back t' the past by that statue and is asking for our help."

"Yes…" the Doctor said. He looked into the Scot's eyes. "Jamie, I know you don't want to go back there, and you don't have to. But I cannot turn down a plea for help—you know that. I don't expect—"

"Aye, I'll go with ye, Doctor," Jamie sighed. "I hate that place, but I hate the thought of ye going alone there e'en more."

The Doctor smiled, ruffling the piper's hair.

"You're a rare sort of human," he said, fondly. "Off we go, then."

And they headed inside the TARDIS, heading for the date on the telegram.

* * *

Meanwhile, two U.N.C.L.E. agents were making their way through the centuries-old Long Island house—the Adelo House, it was called, but it was better known as the Home by the Sea. Alexander Waverly had decided to send his two best men to investigate the disappearances—an American named Napoleon Solo, and his Russian partner, Illya Kuryakin.

"You know, they say this house is haunted," Napoleon mused. "Ghosts come out at night and statues move of their own accord."

"How intriguing," Illya deadpanned. "I suppose next you'll tell me that a witch lived here?"

"Well, you never know," Napoleon said. "This house has been here since before the Revolutionary War—ours, that is."

"Yes, I surmised you were referring to yours and not the Russian Revolution…. Anyway, it doesn't matter how old this place is; with all of the mysterious disappearances in this area lately, there's a chance that THRUSH might be using this house as some sort of base of operations."

"And in the event that it isn't THRUSH this time, we still need to find out who is making those people disappear," Napoleon said, as he led the way to the drawing room of the old house. The American stopped to arch an eyebrow at a large angel statue in the middle of the room, its hands over its face, gleaming as the sunlight from outside poured on it through the window. "Odd place for a lawn ornament…"

Illya frowned at it.

"Looks too large and bulky to be of use as a lawn ornament. It's sort of the thing you find in hedge mazes."

"So why put it in the middle of the living room?" Napoleon wondered.

"Perhaps some young idiots put it there as a dare," Illya said, with a shrug. "Though I imagine it must have taken a whole crew of them to move it." He knocked on the statue with his fist. "It's solid stone."

"Well, let's leave her to play her game of hide-and-seek," Napoleon said in dismissal. "We've got other things to worry about."

"Right," Illya agreed.

He moved to follow Napoleon out of the room, pausing to glance back at the drawing room—and froze.

"Napoleon?"

"Hmm?"

"Didn't that statue have its hands over its face?"

"Yeah—why else would I make that hide-and-seek crack?"

"Look."

Napoleon glanced back, blinking as he saw that the statue's arms were lowered, and that he could see the winged woman's face.

"It's got to be a trick…" he said, simply.

He walked back towards the statue and pushed on one of the stone arms, expecting it to move. It didn't, prompting the American to frown, deeply.

"Didn't you say that the stories were that the statues moved of their own accord?" Illya reminded him.

"I didn't actually _believe_ that."

"Neither did I," Illya admitted. "Napoleon, let's just leave this thing here and move on."

"I'm with you, _Tovarisch_ ; I'm getting a bad feeling from it," Napoleon agreed.

He headed out of the drawing room, while Illya lingered behind, staring at the statue for a moment. He, too, then turned to go, but froze as he glanced out of the corner of his eyes and saw that the statue had now turned 180 degrees, facing him.

"Napoleon…?" he called.

"What?" the American called back from the direction of the kitchen.

"The statue is definitely moving!" Illya said.

"… _What_!?"

"I said—" Illya turned to face the kitchen, but immediately looked back as he felt a flurry of movement—and saw the statue now inches from himself, its fanged mouth open.

By reflex, the Russian stumbled backwards, drew his U.N.C.L.E. Special, and fired twice at the statue. This achieved nothing; the bullets zinged off of the statue without even leaving a mark on it.

The gunshots had, however, drawn Napoleon back from the kitchen; he had drawn his U.N.C.L.E. special, as well, and stopped in his tracks as he saw the statue's new position—and expression.

"Napoleon, I swear it—every time I look away, it moves closer to me!" Illya stated. "I wouldn't believe it, except it's happening!"

"Then let's just back away slowly," Napoleon said, using his free hand to grab Illya's arm and guide him backwards out of the drawing room and into the hallway.

The Russian finally breathed a sigh of relief.

"Glad to be away from that," he sighed. "Thank you, Napoleon."

The American was about to reply when he noticed a stone hand sticking out of the doorway, reaching toward them.

"Don't thank me yet, _Tovarisch_ —run!"

He was still holding onto Illya's arm, and so Napoleon turned and ran towards the kitchen. He heard Illya's footsteps behind for a few moments, but then, they stopped—just as Illya's arm vanished from Napoleon's hold.

Napoleon paled and turned around. Illya was gone—vanished into thin air. And standing just behind the spot where Illya had been was the stone angel—a smile of triumph now on its face.

"…What did you do to him?" Napoleon hissed, aiming his U.N.C.L.E. Special at the statue. " _What did you do to him_!?"

The statue didn't reply; it continued to stand there, smiling—mocking Napoleon and his pain. Furious, Napoleon shot three bullets at the statue; like Illya's bullets, they bounced off of the statue without harming it at all.

"Where is he!?" Napoleon demanded. "Where did you send him!?" Illya had to have gone _somewhere_ —the prospect of him vanishing out of existence altogether was a thought that Napoleon could not bear to accept.

Still, the statue remained silent and mocking. And Napoleon lowered his weapon in defeat, pulling out his communicator.

"Open Channel F," he said, still keeping his eyes on the statue. There was silence. "Open Channel K. Illya? Illya, can you hear me!?" More silence. "…Open Channel D. Put me through to Mr. Waverly, please."

A moment later, Napoleon heard his superior's voice.

"Yes, Mr. Solo, go on."

"Sir, I'd like to report that I've found the source of the disappearances—but at a cost."

"…They got Mr. Kuryakin, didn't they?" Waverly asked, able to tell from Napoleon's tone of voice.

"Yes, Sir," Napoleon admitted. "I have no idea as to where the missing people have been taken to. I was planning… Well, that is to say, I was hoping you would approve…"

"Of you allowing yourself to be captured by these nefarious fellows?" Waverly finished. "I must say that I don't personally approve of that. However, if you feel it is the best method of recovering Mr. Kuryakin and the others, make certain that your tracking devices are activated before you attempt anything of the sort."

"Understood, Sir," Napoleon said. He paused. "Thank you."

"Do be careful, Mr. Solo."

The channel closed, and Napoleon put his communicator away and activated his tracker, still staring at the statue.

"Alright, I get it," he said, quietly. "If you won't bring him back, then you can, at least, send me to wherever it is you sent him." Remembering what Illya said about the statue only moving when he wasn't looking, Napoleon sighed and shut his eyes.

He felt something touch his shoulder, and then he felt a sudden jolt, as though he suddenly crossed a great distance in the fraction of a second. He wobbled on his feet, unsteady for a moment, and then fell over onto what felt like a mattress.

"…Napoleon!?"

The American's eyes snapped open as he heard the Russian's voice again. He still appeared to be in the Home by the Sea—he had fallen onto a bed, and as he turned to his right, he saw that Illya was lying there, too, just as dazed.

"You're alright!" Napoleon exclaimed, relieved.

"I suppose…" Illya said, baffled. "But… the statue got you, too?"

"Well…" Napoleon trailed off, and Illya soon figured out what had happened.

"Oh, you fool…" the Russian groaned. "Do you realize what you've done?"

"Oh, be quiet; this was a smart move," Napoleon insisted. "Regrouping so that we can get out of this together—it was a tactical decision."

"It was a sentimental decision, and getting out of this _isn't_ that simple, Napoleon," Illya said, quietly. "Look out the window, and tell me what you see."

Napoleon leaned over to look out the window next to the bed.

"People walking down below. Wait…" the American said, pausing as he noticed a group of oddly-dressed young women. "… _Flappers_? But that means…"

"We've gone back in time to the 1920s—as impossible as it sounds," Illya said. "And you're stuck here with me now because of your foolish sentimentalism!" The Russian swallowed a growing lump in his throat. "Thank you for that…"

Napoleon managed a wan smile and gave Illya's shoulder a squeeze.

"Well, you're the quantum physicist," he said, getting off of the bed and helping Illya off, as well. "If there's anyone who can get us back to the '60s, it's you."

"This may be beyond me, Napoleon," Illya said, as they moved towards the door of the room. "We would need access to technology that humankind has yet to develop…"

Illya trailed off as he opened the door of the room; he and Napoleon both stared as another two men stared back at them from the other side of the door—a short, shabbily-dressed man in a bow tie and another short man in a kilt.

They started talking over each other in confused unison—English and Russian mixing with Gallifreyan and Gaelic—until the man in the bow tie cleared his throat for quiet.

"Well, Gentlemen, it appears we have quite a few stories to exchange as to why all four of us are in the wrong time…" he said.

Napoleon and Illya exchanged baffled glances. Neither of them had any idea what was going to happen now—but, at least, whatever it was, they'd be facing it together.


	2. Act II: A Very Complicated Story

"…And that's how we got here," Napoleon finished, as he relayed what had happened. "We only just realized that, somehow, we've gone back in time. …And you say you came here on purpose?"

"Aye, we received a telegram calling for help," Jamie said.

"Yes, I explained to you about my TARDIS," the Doctor said. "She was in an alley not too far from your headquarters, and this telegram was stuck between the doors."

Napoleon and Illya took a look.

"I.N.K.?" Napoleon asked, turning to Illya with a baffled expression.

"I did not send a telegram," the Russian insisted.

"Oh, so those are _your_ initials?"

"Da; I am Illya Kuryakin—this is my partner, Napoleon Solo."

"Hmm, most interesting. My young friend here is Jamie McCrimmon, and I… Ah, yes; you may call me Doctor John Smith."

"If you say so," Napoleon said. "But you just said that you came to the 1920s of your own free will with this… TARDIS. Does that mean that we can leave just as easily the same way?"

"Well, of course," the Doctor said. "It wouldn't be right of me to leave you stranded here—providing you haven't seen your own graves, that is. If you have, there's nothing I can do for you."

Napoleon and Illya exchanged concerned glances as Jamie gave the Doctor a nudge.

"Oh dear, perhaps I should explain," the Doctor said. "The way time travel works is that you cannot change what you know will happen—therefore if you see your grave, then you know that is when you die."

"I think I understand," Illya said. "If we see our names on a headstone here, that means we do not make it back to our time."

"Yes, exactly," the Doctor said.

"Well, ah, thanks for the warning," Napoleon said. "But, thankfully, we haven't seen any graves, and certainly not our own."

"Well, then it's settled!" the Doctor exclaimed.

"Aye, we can go back t' the TARDIS and get oot of here," Jamie agreed.

"You appear to have forgotten something important, Jamie; we still have to find the other missing people—which I am sure our new friends here would also agree is imperative."

"In all the excitement about the stone angel, I forgot," Napoleon admitted. "But he's right; we can't leave the others here to fend for themselves. First of all, we have to make sure Mr. Waverly doesn't send anymore agents to the house so that the angels end up sending them here, too…"

He pulled out his communicator.

"Open Channel D…" he began, but he frowned as nothing happened.

"It will not work here, Napoleon," Illya sighed, drawing his own communicator. "Believe me, I tried when I ended up here. The channel hasn't been set up yet in the 1920s; they are functionally useless."

"They look like yer sonic screwdriver, Doctor," Jamie said, looking at the communicators with interest.

"Yes, they do—and speaking of which…" The Doctor drew his sonic out and, after a moment, pointed it at the almost identical-looking communicators. "Try again now; I think you'll be able to get through."

Napoleon exchanged a baffled glance with Illya, but did, indeed, try again.

"Open Channel D; put me through to Mr. Waverly again, please?"

"Mr. Solo, I thought I instructed you to keep your tracking devices activated!" Mr. Waverly chided him.

The Doctor frowned at Waverly's tone, and looked to Jamie, who merely shrugged in response.

"It's a very complicated story, Sir," Napoleon said. "And I'm still trying to figure it out myself. But I'm happy to say that I've found Illya, and we're currently making plans to find the other innocents."

"And the perpetrators?" Waverly asked.

"That, I'm afraid, is even more complicated; it's safe to say that THRUSH is not involved, but there's still a lot we don't know about the ones who are. We will do the best we can regardless, Sir."

"…Yes, I have no doubt of that," Waverly admitted. "Carry on, then, Mr. Solo."

"Yes, Sir," Napoleon said, and signed off. He glanced first at his communicator, then to Illya (who looked just as baffled as he did) and then to the Doctor. "…Did I just talk to my boss while stuck forty years in the past?"

"Why, yes, you did!" the Doctor said, cheerfully. "I used my sonic screwdriver to patch in your channel to my TARDIS's communications network. It also works for Wi-Fi and cell service—of course, that's after your time, so forget I ever mentioned that… But my word, I am sorry."

"Sorry about what?" Illya asked.

"That you are so…" He looked to the communicators and shook his head. " _Stuck_. You have my sympathies."

"But you did say you can get us out of here, as we didn't look at any gravestones," Illya said.

"Oh, but of course!" the Doctor said. "But that wasn't quite what I meant—"

"Look, ah…" Napoleon said. "Can you please tell me what you can about our adversaries?"

"Well… I believe Jamie can tell you more about them then I can; I have never seen them firsthand. They always seem to try to avoid me…"

"Aye, I can tell ye all aboot them!" Jamie exclaimed. "The stone angels—they move only when ye're nae looking at them, and if they touch ye—"

"They send you back in time," Illya finished. " _Da_ , we figured out that fact for ourselves."

"Aye, but sometimes they can just send ye to different places in the same time instead of through time," Jamie said.

"Yes, and there's a point to that, as I understand it," the Doctor said. "Remember what I said about gravestones? They know that time travel can't save someone who has seen their date of death on their tomb."

"Then there's a chance we can't help the innocents if they have seen their headstones," Napoleon said, exhaling.

"Now, now, we mustn't think the worst just yet," the Doctor said. "There's every chance in the world that these stone angels haven't gotten to any of them. In fact, I think it's highly likely. This house is so ancient, you see—so unsafe; there's a weak floor in the kitchen, and it drops anyone who trods on it in the cellar."

"Are you sure?"

"I should be; Jamie here fell down there the first time we were in this house."

"We both fell!" the piper protested.

"Oh, no no no— _you_ fell; I jumped in after you!"

Napoleon glanced at Illya, who indicated the staircase and headed down to the ground floor of the house.

"And so, you see…" the Doctor trailed off, finally noticing that they had gone. "Oh! Do be careful! You should let me lead; I have a general idea of where the weaknesses in the kitchen floor are!"

The banister of the stairwell let out a loud crack as he said this. Napoleon arched an eyebrow at him, and the Doctor shrugged.

"I said I knew the weaknesses in the floor, not the railing…" he said, as Jamie rolled his eyes.

"Right…" Napoleon said. "So, these stone angels…"

"I told ye how t' handle them—just keep looking at them."

"Yeah, I know," Napoleon said. "But that's only a temporary measure; how do we _stop_ them? Bullets didn't work; what are they weak to?"

"Ah, yes…" the Doctor said. "Well, the last time, we were only dealing with one, and we tricked it into a gap in the space-time continuum—a temporal disturbance-that also happens to be in the cellar of the house. I believe it was this temporal disturbance that drew these stone angels here—it appears to be that they feed off of time energy."

"Then why do they send people back in time—for kicks?" Napoleon asked.

"That, I am not so certain about," the Time Lord admitted. "But if I had to guess, I would say that, somehow, sending people back in time generates enough time energy for them to feed on."

"So they were hunting us?" Illya asked, frowning.

"Essentially, yes…" the Doctor said. "They still allow you to live out your lives, albeit in a foreign time period. Had you not met me, you would have been stuck here—unless you managed to find a way to traverse the time vortex on your own…."

"So where exactly is this time machine of yours?" Napoleon asked.

"The TARDIS? Right outside the house. If the missing people are in the basement, it shan't take much to get them inside, and we can be on our way."

"Can it take all of us?" Illya asked.

"Oh, aye," Jamie said, with a fervent nod. "She can take a whole battalion and still have room for more…"

He trailed off as the Doctor opened the door leading to the cellar. Hushed, panicked voices could be heard.

Napoleon sighed.

"Sounds like you were right," he admitted to the Doctor. "Come on, Illya."

The Doctor sputtered in some amount of indignation as Napoleon and Illya charged ahead and addressed the frightened innocents.

"It's usually my job to be the one to rescue everyone, isn't it?" the Doctor pouted quietly to Jamie as the two U.N.C.L.E. agents took down names and accepted thanks from the grateful innocents.

"Och, ye jealous fellow," Jamie said, amused to see the Doctor pouting. "Ye're just upset ye got ootdone by these United Network chappies!"

"Outdone!?" the Doctor scoffed. "If it weren't for me, they'd have been stranded here like the rest of them-"

He was cut off as Napoleon headed back towards him.

"We're missing one person," he said. "The husband of one of these ladies—after everyone fell down here, he told them he was going for help and ran out hours ago, apparently. He hasn't been back."

"Oh dear…" the Doctor mused.

"There is no point in lamenting," Illya said. "I say that one of us goes to look for him and the rest stay here to guide everyone else to the time machine."

"And I'll go," Napoleon insisted.

"Napoleon-!" Illya began.

"Oh, no no no; there's no reason for you two to play the 'who's more expendable' game," the Doctor said. "Either Jamie or myself can go, as we've dealt with these stone angels before, you see…"

"Och, ye ne'er saw them; ye don' know what t' expect," Jamie pointed out. "I should be the one t' go."

"No; we need you to get the innocents into your time machine, and you need to get it ready to go," Napoleon insisted.

"In all honesty, it's more up to her than me as to getting ready," the Doctor mused. He then glanced indignantly at Jamie as the piper snarked quietly. "Oh, shush!"

"Illya," Napoleon continued. "You're the quantum physicist; you're better off helping with the machine and keeping an eye on everyone. I'll go get our straggler." He sighed, hoping it wouldn't come to him having to pull rank. "It's what Mr. Waverly would have ordered if he was here."

But Illya conceded and gave a glum nod.

" _Da_ , but be careful, Napoleon."

"Aren't I always?" he countered. "…Don't answer that."

He could feel Illya's gaze upon him as he left. Taking care to avoid the trouble spots in the kitchen floor, Napoleon made his way to the living room, and then managed to step outside. On the lawn, barely discernable through the thick fog rolling in, he saw the blue police box that the Doctor had described, finding it hard to believe that it was a time machine—and one that could carry a battalion, as Jamie had described. The American shook his head and continued down a worn path leading away from the house, glancing around to make sure that he wasn't being pursued by the stone angels.

It had occurred to him that he hadn't seen any since getting sent here, but some of the innocents in the cellar had said they had been taking refuge there because they had seen the angels standing guard outside. So they were around, he knew—they were just hiding. And they were good at it.

Napoleon froze as he collided with someone in the fog, but this person was a human—and a rather disoriented one, who panicked and nearly knocked Napoleon into a nearby iron gate. Napoleon took one look at his suit and easily pegged him as someone from the 1960s.

"Mr. Boerne?" he asked.

The man calmed down.

"Yes…?"

"I'm Napoleon Solo—from U.N.C.L.E. We're rescuing all of you who had been trapped in that house—your wife is there, and I told her that I'd look for you."

"She's alright?"

"She's just fine," Napoleon assured him, with a smile. "You're the only one who went wandering around outside?"

"That's right," Boerne sighed. "I got so turned around in this fog. Before I knew it, I was here in this cemetery."

"Yeah, I can see why the fog…" Napoleon trailed off, remembering the Doctor's warning from earlier. He looked around, seeing small headstones barely discernable through the pea soup around them. "Ah… You didn't look at any of these headstones, did you?"

Boerne shook his head.

"Too foggy. I nearly ran smack into one of those angels."

"What!?" Napoleon exclaimed, and he looked where Boerne was pointing and saw one of the stone angels, identical to the one he had seen in the house, staring at him.

"Creepy thing, isn't it?" Boerne asked, with a shudder.

"Yeah. Yeah, it sure is," Napoleon said, speaking far more calmly than he felt. "Now, Mr. Boerne, I want you to go back down this path—back in that direction, towards the house. You'll find your wife and everyone there with another U.N.C.L.E. agent and two helpful volunteers; they'll look after you."

"What about you?"

"I'll be along in a minute; I need to double-check something. Get going."

Napoleon didn't take his eyes off of the stone angel as Boerne headed back towards the house.

"So that's how it hid," he murmured to no one in particular. "Masqueraded itself as a monument here in the cemetery on the grounds."

He kept his eyes on the statue as he backed away—and ended up tripping over a headstone as he strayed off of the path. He quickly looked up, freezing as he saw the angel now halfway towards him.

Desperate to make a getaway without taking his eyes off of the angel, Napoleon attempted a rather ungainly crabwalk that ended when he backed into another headstone. Looking up briefly, he saw a second angel leering down at him from behind the headstone he had collided with.

Napoleon threw himself to the side and looked back again; now there were three of them—the one he had first seen, the one behind him, and a third that had come out of nowhere—staring back at him.

"How many of you are there!?" he squawked.

He cast a glance behind him to make sure that there weren't any more back there; he was almost up against the wall of a small mausoleum, which proved to be a mixed blessing—there was no way for him to get attacked from behind, but there was no way to escape either. And as Napoleon turned back in front of him to see a small army of nearly fifteen stone angels—some of whom were only feet from him, sticking out their stone arms. At least five of them were within touching distance if he so much as blinked.

"Well…" he said, aloud, trying to charm them with the winning smile that had saved his life on more than one occasion. "I think we can discuss this like civilized beings, can't we, Ladies?"

The angels stared back at him, silent and unmoving.

"Then again…" Napoleon's smile faded as it sunk in as to just how doomed he was. "…I could be wrong."


	3. Act III: Ye Need t' Eat More Porridge

Illya was beginning to wish that he had gone to look for Mr. Boerne; as the minutes ticked by, he found himself liking less and less the idea that Napoleon was somewhere out on his own.

Nevertheless, he preoccupied himself with ushering the innocents to the TARDIS outside.

"I thought you said a whole battalion could fit into here?" Illya asked Jamie, puzzled to see only a small police box standing there.

"Aye, they can," Jamie said, and he opened the doors.

The innocents gasped and marveled at the interior; murmurs of "bigger on the inside" could be heard.

"Well, what do you think?" the Doctor asked Illya, as Jamie began to lead the others inside.

"I have _heard_ of dimensional transcendence," Illya admitted. "But it was only ever a theory…"

"Yes, well…" the Doctor said, smugly. "My people happen to be considerably ahead in this field."

"Evidently so…" Illya began, but he was cut off by one of the female innocents pointing down the path that led away from the house.

"It's my husband!" she exclaimed, running to greet him.

Mr. Boerne accepted her embrace, and Illya now darted past them, taking a few steps down the foggy path, as though waiting for Napoleon to show up.

"Uh, hey…" Boerne said to the Russian. "If you're looking for that Lone Bonaparte fella-"

"Napoleon Solo," Illya corrected him.

"Yeah, I knew it was something like that… But if you're looking for him, he's at the cemetery down the path."

"What!?"

"Yeah; he seemed interested in one of those angel statues-"

" _What_!?" Illya exclaimed again.

"Oh dear," the Doctor said. "Jamie?"

"Aye?"

"Kindly take Mr. and Mrs. Boerne and the others to our study, and provide them with some snacks; I think Mr. Kuryakin and I have some work to do."

"Are ye sure I cannae help?"

"We'll handle it, Jamie; just get everyone situated and then come back to the console room."

"Aye…" Jamie said, sounding slightly disappointed.

The Doctor watched him go, and then turned back to Illya.

"Now then…" he began, but he trailed off as he saw Illya heading down the foggy path. "And where do you think you're going!?"

"To find Napoleon!"

"Don't you think it would be wiser to check and see what he's gotten himself into?" the Doctor inquired.

"He is in trouble; don't ask me how I know, but I do…" Illya insisted, but he took out his communicator. "Open Channel D. Napoleon?"

There was a moment of tense silence, but then a voice responded to him.

"Illya…?"

"Napoleon, where are you!?"

"Still in the cemetery. Look, I'm just, ah… checking out a few things. Nothing to worry about; I'll be back as soon as possible."

"Do try to hurry; we need to get back to our time. And remember, don't look at any gravestones!"

"Yeah. Yeah, I know. I can assure you that I'm not looking at any gravestones. I'll, ah… I'll catch up with you in a bit."

Without even a goodbye, Napoleon closed the channel, prompting Illya to stare at his communicator in disbelief.

"Well, he seems alright-" the Doctor began.

"He is in trouble-dire trouble," Illya said, darkly, as he pocketed his communicator.

"But he just said-"

"It was the way he said it," Illya countered. "Besides, he is prone to telling me to stay away if he is in danger."

"And therefore you see it your duty to put yourself in danger now," the Doctor scoffed. "Oh, my giddy aunt; you're just as frustrating as Jamie!" He blinked as Illya continued down the path. "And just as rash and foolhardy! There's a better way to go about on your self-assigned rescue quest!"

Illya turned back.

"What?" he asked, a definite edge to his voice.

The Doctor smiled and merely indicated the TARDIS behind him.

* * *

Napoleon had been in a lot of THRUSH plots before, some of which had ended up being rather bizarre—and some rather alarming. But he was having trouble thinking of something more bizarre and alarming than holding a staring contest with fifteen statues that could send him further back in time with just a tap on the shoulder if he so much as blinked.

He had come very close to blinking when the sound of his communicator startled him; thankfully, his nerves had been steeled by years of training and he had managed to resist the reflex.

He had also somewhat expected Illya to call, and had mentally prepared himself for what he was going to say.

He knew that in spite of how much Illya would want to help—and how much he would have wanted Illya's help—he could not allow Illya to put himself in danger simply for Napoleon's sake.

If Illya stayed with the Doctor, he would have a way to return back to their own time. He didn't deserve to be stranded in the past. And hopefully, Napoleon wouldn't end up suffering that fate, either.

The American agent swallowed hard, noting that he was smack in the middle of the cemetery. He could very easily have walked over his own grave if his fate was to be sent back further in time.

His breath suddenly exhaled in a cloud of condensation as a chill ran down his spine. Sweat was pouring from his forehead, falling into his eyes and making them sting. He could feel his eyes threatening to blink.

He clutched at his communicator, wondering how much life the batteries still had in them. If he was sent further back in time and was separated from Illya, he could still use the communicator to keep in touch with him—and if he ended up in some time period from which he'd be unable to be rescued, well… He could still keep in touch with Illya until the batteries ran out.

He nearly blinked again as the communicator whistled once more.

"Illya?"

"Napoleon, raise your hand," Illya instructed.

Napoleon would've been utterly baffled had he not been preoccupied with staring at the statues.

"… _What_?"

"I said for you to stick your hand straight up into the air!" Illya countered, sounding rather edgy. "And whatever you do, do not take your eyes off of those statues!"

Napoleon winced inwardly. He knew, then…

"Where are you? Can you see me?"

" _Da_ , I can, and for the last time, _stick your hand up_!"

Napoleon shrugged and raised his free hand, wondering how that could possibly help his situation now. A few seconds later, though, he heard the sound of something overhead, and then yelped out loud as someone seized his hand, pulling him up until he was dangling in midair.

Napoleon looked up to see Illya leaning out of the blue police box he had seen on the lawn earlier—only the box was in flight, and Illya was holding onto one of the open doors with one hand and holding Napoleon's hand with the other.

Illya let out a cry as he began to pitch forward.

"You're too heavy…!"

"Och, I've got ye!" Jamie exclaimed, grabbing at Illya's other arm. "Ye need t' eat more porridge, ye skinny thing!"

"Oh, believe me, he eats. _A lot_ ," Napoleon insisted, sounding a lot calmer than he felt as he cast a glance below. The angels were glaring up at him furiously, fangs bared as the TARDIS banked around the mausoleum.

But the turn was too sharp, and it nearly sent Jamie pitching forward, as well.

"Doctor!" he cried, beginning to lose his footing.

The Doctor abandoned the console to grab the human chain from Jamie's end, wrapping his arms around the Scot's waist and dragging him, the Russian, and the American back on board the TARDIS. But without anyone at the console, the TARDIS clipped the side of the mausoleum roof, took a tumble, and crash-landed on her side, sending everyone to one side of the console room in a tangled heap.

"Three fine specimens of _Homo sapiens_ you are!" the Doctor scoffed, extricating himself from the pile.

Napoleon attempted to break free, as well, but let out a squawk.

"Illya… Illya, I think my tie is caught in your shoulder holster…" he said.

"Will whichever one of ye that's sitting on me stop!?" Jamie hollered.

"I rest my case…" the Doctor added, with a roll of his eyes.

Napoleon finally managed to free his necktie, and he stood up, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Thanks," he said to the Doctor. "Though, next time, if you can manage the rescue without the whiplash, that'd be great."

"Well, there was the option of attempting to materialize the TARDIS around you, but that was far riskier," the Doctor said. "She doesn't handle short hops well, you see, and so there would have been the risk of us materializing _in_ the same place you were rather than _around_ you."

"And that would have been bad?" Napoleon asked.

"Seeing as though every atom in your body would have been redistributed in the surrounding area, yes, I would say so," the Doctor said, plainly. "Your Mr. Kuryakin therefore insisted on us going with the aerial rescue."

Napoleon blanched at first, but then managed a wan smile and looked to Illya.

"Always looking out for me, aren't you, _Tovarisch_ …" he trailed off as he saw Illya leaning against the roundels on the wall, silently glowering at him. "Oh… Illya, I know what you're thinking-"

"You… _blockhead_ ," Illya hissed. "You stubborn, thick-headed ox!"

The Doctor beckoned to Jamie to follow him.

"I think they shall need a moment…"

"Aye, but I want t' watch…!"

" _Jamie_!"

The Doctor ushered the Scot out of the console room, aiming to check on the innocents in the study as the two agents continued to argue.

"Illya, please understand, I didn't want you putting yourself in danger," Napoleon said. "I had everything under control-"

"You can lie to anyone else in the world, but do not lie to me," Illya said, his voice dangerously sharp.

"Okay, so maybe not entirely in control," Napoleon admitted. "But I'm confident that I would've found a way out of it eventually without you. You know, I think I'm beginning to resent the implication that you automatically assumed I was incapable of getting out of it!"

"Is that so? Well, there are several THRUSH traps I could have extricated myself from without your help, as well!" Illya countered. "But if this is the way you want it to be, fine-the next time you see me in trouble, do me no favors!"

Napoleon was taken aback, and he glanced at the floor for a moment, recalling that terrifying moment when the Angel had first sent Illya back to the 1920s alone. Napoleon hadn't hesitated in allowing himself to be sent back, as well—if only so that he could have been with Illya again.

"…Illya…" he said, quietly. "I didn't mean to sound ungrateful."

"Neither did I," Illya said, sounding much quieter now, and when Napoleon looked back at him, the Russian looked almost red with embarrassment.

Napoleon gave him a wan smile again and gently brushed back some of Illya's long hair behind his ear; Illya smiled back.

"Why can't I stay mad at you, Illya?"

"The same reason I cannot stay mad at you. Because we are so fond of each other-"

A deep _CLUNG_ startled them both. The sound repeated itself, again and again.

"What is that!?" Napoleon asked.

"It sounds like an alarm bell…" Illya began, but froze as he heard another sound. "Napoleon, look!"

He pointed to the TARDIS doors, which were shaking violently as fifteen Weeping Angels pounded on them from the outside, attempting to enter; the five closest ones appeared on the TARDIS's viewscreen, teeth bared at them as the Cloister Bell continued to chime.


	4. Act IV: They're in Here With Us!

"We have to stop them from entering!" Illya said, trying to brace himself against the doors. "Get the Doctor—quickly!"

"Wait; let me try to push this chair against the door…" Napoleon began, but he frowned as the chair didn't budge, not even a centimeter. "What the…? This thing won't move! It's bolted to the floor!"

"Napoleon, forget the chair and go get the Doctor!" Illya ordered again, through gritted teeth.

Napoleon abandoned the attempt to move the chair and instead headed down the corridor, freezing in his tracks as he realized he had absolutely no idea which of the numerous doors was the right one.

He was soon spared from this dilemma, however, by the study door opening of its own accord, admitting a very annoyed Doctor and very confused Jamie into the corridor, who both looked surprised to see Napoleon there.

"What is going on!?" the Doctor demanded. "What did you touch on the console to upset the TARDIS so?"

"We didn't do anything! It's those angel statues that are trying to get in!" Napoleon exclaimed.

"Oh, is that all?" the Doctor asked. "I can assure you that it is quite impossible—nothing can breach the TARDIS. …Though that doesn't explain why she would set the Cloister Bell off—that only happens in times of an impending disaster!" He glanced up at the ceiling. "Are you acting up again, Old Girl?"

The TARDIS responded by ringing the Cloister Bell even louder than before. Napoleon didn't stop to question that the Doctor seemed to be addressing the TARDIS as a living thing—or the fact that the TARDIS seemed to be responding as one. Indeed, he was suddenly distracted by a brief cry of alarm coming from the console room.

"Illya!?"

He ran back to the console room, freezing as he saw Illya sitting up against the wall near the doors; five of the angel statues were surrounding him, their arms held out such that he couldn't get away. The doors, however, seemed to be closed.

Furiously, Napoleon rounded on the Doctor, who was rushing down the corridor with Jamie.

"I thought you said they couldn't get through the doors!"

"They can't!" the Doctor insisted. "Are you telling me-?"

"They're in here with us!" Napoleon finished. "Five of them! And they've got Illya surrounded!"

"They came through the viewscreen, Napoleon!" Illya yelled, not daring to blink, even though he saw Napoleon glaring at the statues, as well.

"Through the viewscreen!?" the Doctor repeated. Clearly, that had never happened before.

"Och…!" Jamie looked concerned. "And if we open the doors t' try t' get them oot, it'll let the others in!"

"And if we allow these ones to stay here, there's every chance they'll reach the Eye of Harmony—no wonder the Cloister Bell is ringing!"

Napoleon was now on his hands and knees, trying to find an opening small enough for Illya to fit through. The Russian shook his head, but only slightly, as he still continued to stare down the statues.

"It is no use, Napoleon; I tried…"

Napoleon exhaled, at a loss. Only minutes ago, Illya had succeeded in saving him, and now Napoleon was helpless to return the favor!?

The Doctor, in the meantime, was thinking as quickly as he could.

"Jamie, there's one thing we must do, and is shall need your help," the Doctor said. "You shall need to provide me cover against while I have the TARDIS take off-"

"Aye, of course!"

"Let me finish, won't you? I meant provide me cover whilst I have us take off and then open the doors once we're in the Vortex."

"Oh, aye— _WHAT_!?"

"Yes, yes, I know, I know," the Doctor sighed. "I haven't forgotten what will happen when we do that…"

"What's going to happen?" Napoleon asked, also still glaring at the statues.

"There shall be a most tremendous suction that will pull anything that isn't fastened or holding onto something out into the Time Vortex—including the statues," the Doctor said, retreating to the console. He frowned; the central column was preventing him from getting a good look at the Angels; he could only discern the gray shapes and tips of wings. "They'll be lost in time and space—no telling where in the continuum they'll end up."

Jamie was already tying a rope around his waist and tying it to the console, and he then prepared to wrap his arms around the Doctor.

"Aye, I'm ready."

"But our guests aren't!" the Doctor reminded him. "Mr. Solo? Mr. Kuryakin? I recommend you hold onto something that isn't going to come loose."

Illya had no option other than grabbing onto the roundels behind him, as he continued to look up at the statues. Napoleon chose the option of using his belt to strap his leg to the leg of the nearby chair that had been bolted down a few feet from the doors. The American then glanced at Illya in concern, seeing that he wasn't tied down.

The Doctor now threw the dematerialization switch on the console, and the TARDIS shook as she took off.

"I'm about to open the doors; do hold on!" the Doctor instructed. "And don't look at the Vortex—looking into the untempered schism has driven the most brilliant minds to utter madness!"

Napoleon held onto the bolted chair for good measure, still glancing at his partner as the doors opened.

The suction of the vortex was overpowering; Napoleon found it difficult to breathe as he clung onto the chair for dear life. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the angels, one by one, flying off into the Vortex. And the Cloister Bell finally stopped chiming.

"Jamie!" the Doctor yelled. "Jamie, I can't see because the central column; you'll have to tell me when I can close the doors again!"

"Aye; nae quite yet…!" Jamie began, but then he gasped. "Oh, nae!"

"What is it!?"

"The scrawny chappie…!"

Napoleon glanced back at Illya again, his heart nearly freezing in his chest as he saw Illya losing his grip on the roundels; his feet were sticking out of the TARDIS—making it impossible for the Doctor to close the doors.

The Russian gritted his teeth as his fingers began to slip from the roundels. And Napoleon's eyes widened in horror as he saw this and recalled the Doctor's words from only moments ago—

" _They'll be lost in time and space—no telling where in the continuum they'll end up_."

It had only been pure good fortune that he had found Illya again after he had been sent to the 1920s the first time. If Illya was going to be lost to the infinity of the space-time continuum, then Napoleon knew that he would never see him again.

Illya seemed to know it, too; a look of resignation was in his eyes as he glanced at Napoleon.

"NO-!" Napoleon yelled, but even has he cried out, Illya's fingers lost their grip on the roundels.

Without thinking, Napoleon let go of the chair, throwing himself forward. His hands grasped Illya's hands as the belt Napoleon had strapped his leg to strained from the tension of holding them both against the suction of the Vortex.

Illya stared back at him with wide eyes, his blond hair aglow with the backdrop of lights that the Vortex was putting out. Napoleon returned his partner's look, silently transmitting a promise that no matter what fate befell Illya, Napoleon would be sharing it alongside him—and with no regrets.

Napoleon shut his eyes now, straining as he struggled to pull Illya inside the TARDIS. He could feel the belt straining even more; he feared that it would snap, sending them both flying. But he still pulled, straining his muscles as he slowly dragged his partner back inside the console room.

He wasn't sure for how long he had attempted this; it might as well have been an eternity. But, at last, Illya's feet entered the TARDIS.

"Now, Doctor, now!" Jamie yelled.

The doors swung shut, and the sudden stopping of the suction caused Illya to go hurtling forwards, crashing headlong into Napoleon, sending them both toppling over in a heap.

"Well," the Doctor sighed. "That was rather too close for my liking. I am sorry, Gentlemen, for putting you in such danger. But we've stopped those creatures, at any rate, so we can…" He trailed off as he realized that Napoleon and Illya weren't paying any attention.

Illya looked calm, with his expression as neutral as it usually was. It was only because Napoleon could feel him trembling slightly that he knew that his Russian partner had been shaken by his near miss.

"I…" Illya began, trying to find his words. "I thought… I thought I told you only minutes earlier… the next time you saw me in trouble, not to do me any favors! …Did you forget that I had said that?"

Napoleon's expression grew incredibly grim for a moment, thinking that Illya had not wanted to be rescued in order to prove a point.

But just as he opened his mouth to chastise him, the Russian's face broke into a small smile.

"I am glad, Napoleon, that you truly are a stubborn, thick-headed ox and did not listen to me…" he said, the sincerity in his voice unmistakable. His smile wavered for a moment, betraying how frightened he had been at the prospect of getting lost in the space-time continuum all alone. "Napoleon… thank you…"

Napoleon just answered with a weary smile.

"Anytime, Illya. Anytime."

 **Epilogue**

The Doctor and Jamie allowed Napoleon and Illya to take a moment to recover, going back to the study to check on the innocents, who were a bit alarmed from the wild ride, but otherwise fine—news that the relayed to the two U.N.C.L.E. agents.

"Well, that's good news," Napoleon sighed, helping Illya up as they both got to their feet. "So we can take everyone back to our time, then."

"And then we need to figure out what to put in our mission report to Mr. Waverly," Illya sighed. "He will not believe a word of what happened."

"There's that," Napoleon agreed. "And we need to come up with a good explanation for keeping other people away from that house; we only sent five of those angel statues into the Vortex—the others must still be in that house."

"There was only one by the time we dealt with that dimensional trouble in the 1980s," Jamie pointed out. "Somewhere along the line, something happened t' the others. I don' know what…"

"Well, we can't explain to Mr. Waverly that the others just disappeared," Napoleon said, sighing again.

"Perhaps you needn't explain anything to him at all," the Doctor offered.

"…I beg your pardon?" Napoleon asked.

"I could see it earlier, when he was berating you over that communicator of yours," the Doctor said. "The two of you are clever men—certainly capable of achieving great things throughout space and time, rather than simply being at the beck and call of an agency that sees you as expendable. I, too, am forced to work for an agency of my people—but you have an opportunity to escape that fate! You can stay here, on the TARDIS!"

"…Stay here?" Illya repeated.

"When we're not forced to work for the Celestial Intervention Agency, Jamie and I enjoy traveling through space and time," the Doctor continued. "You could join us; you can see marvelous sights—things you could only ever dream of…" He pushed a few buttons on the console and then the TARDIS shook once more, but then stopped moving altogether. "You can see for yourselves…"

The doors opened, and Napoleon and Illya, expecting the suction to return, briefly clung to each other before they realized that, since they were out of the Vortex, there was no suction now.

Instead, it was a breathtaking sight of the Orion Nebula, from a distance so close that it had, to them, been previously unimaginable—a distance that allowed them to see the entirety of the nebula, while being able to pick out the glow of newborn stars within it. Illya let out a quiet exclamation, leaving Napoleon's side to hold onto the TARDIS doors and lean out to get an even closer look. Napoleon quickly joined him, however, looking quite impressed, but also gaining some amount of joy upon seeing the awed look on Illya's face—it was rare for him to see his Russian partner in such wide-eyed wonder. Illya returned the look, going slightly red at his display of emotion, but soon returning his attention to the nebula.

"Well, Gentlemen?" the Doctor asked, pleased to see them staring out at the sight in wonder.

"It's… a very tempting offer, Doctor," Napoleon said. "But as strange as it may seem, even though we're technically expendable agents, we do enjoy the work we do for Mr. Waverly."

" _Da_ …" Illya mumbled, still not taking his eyes off of the sight. "Extend this invitation again after we are forced to retire from the field at age 40; perhaps then we shall take you up on the offer."

The Doctor shrugged.

"Very well, if that is what you wish… Can't make any promises, though; the TARDIS very often decides where I go."

"Often?" Jamie repeated. "Ye mean all the time!"

"Oh, shush!"

* * *

The Doctor didn't press them to stay—something that surprised Jamie, but the piper said nothing about it as they returned to 1968.

"Oh, crumbs; I do believe I'm an hour off!" the Time Lord fumed.

"What do you mean?" Illya asked, as he and Napoleon began to usher the innocents from the study to the console room.

"Nothing too concerning," the Doctor assured him. "It's just that I'm an hour earlier in time than when you left. So you shall all have to be careful that, for the next hour, you don't cross paths with your other selves to prevent any nasty paradoxes. Though I believe most of you are in the house at this present moment, so that shouldn't be an issue."

"And we would be en route to Brooklyn," Napoleon said. "Well, Illya and I may just as well go home and start working on that mission report."

"Hmph, good luck with that," the Doctor said, and he and Jamie watched as the two agents and the innocents departed the TARDIS. He continued to watch them as they began to direct the innocents to where they needed to go.

"Ye di'n push them t' travel with us," Jamie said, quietly.

"No," the Doctor sighed, closing the TARDIS doors and preparing for dematerialization again. "Oh, I suppose I knew it was inevitable."

"Eh?"

"They're a lot like you, Jamie," the Doctor said. "You keep on saying that it doesn't matter if we didn't have a TARDIS—that you'd be content in some shack in Scotland if I was there."

"Aye, that's right."

"They're the same way."

Jamie considered this, recalling how Napoleon had been ready to go flying off into the Vortex if it had meant staying with Illya. The Scot knew that he would have done the same had it been the Doctor in trouble, as well.

"You humans are a very perplexing species," the Doctor mused. "You talk of great things and daydream about travels in space and time, but at the end of the day, you're really quite easy to please."

"Och, that reminds me; we ne'er did go t' a pub!"

The Doctor gave him a look, but then shook his head in amusement.

"Oh, very well," he said, removing his hand from the dematerialization switch. "I do believe we've earned it."

* * *

Napoleon and Illya were taking a well-earned drink, as well, in their shared apartment—some of Illya's vodka stores—as they both fretted over what to do for the mission report.

"How do we explain in a believable manner that a pair of time-travelers saved us after we were stranded in the 1920s because they somehow got a telegram from me?" Illya asked. He then frowned, sitting upright.

"What is it?"

"The telegram…" he said. "How did they get this telegram from me?"

He pulled the telegram, which the Doctor had given him, out of his pocket, and stared at it for a moment, and then looked at the clock on the wall.

"Illya?"

"We came back an hour early… It's a stable time loop!" he breathed, running for the telephone. "What is the number for Western Union?"

"I'll find it," Napoleon said, paging through the phone book.

It took a bit of convincing for Illya to get them to leave the telegram in the TARDIS doors, but the telegram was soon bound for where the TARDIS was parked originally—in the other alley, where the past Doctor and Jamie would find it in an hour.

"I'm still not sure exactly what you did, but I hope it means this is finally over?"

" _Da_ , it is. For us," Illya sighed. "Well, until Mr. Waverly sees our report."

Napoleon took another sip of vodka and sat down on the couch beside Illya.

"…Did you…?" he began. "Well… When the Doctor offered us the chance to travel with him… Were you…?"

"Tempted to accept? Of course I was. I do not deny, Napoleon, that the idea of being able to share so many new places and experiences with you would have been enjoyable. But I also know that you take great pride in what we do here at U.N.C.L.E. I, too, take great pride in it. I enjoy sharing this life with you as well." He glanced away for a moment. "That is why I do not think I will be able to thank you enough for what you did for me today—allowing yourself to get sent back in time, and then risking getting pulled into the Vortex with me…"

"Well, you airlifted me away from those statues," Napoleon said.

"It pales in comparison."

"This isn't a competition," Napoleon reminded him. "Not when I know that if the situations had been reversed, the exact same things would have happened."

"Of course!"

"…Then that settles it."

"… _Da_ , it does," Illya admitted. "But even so… Thank you."

Napoleon gave a wan smile.

"You know, Illya, it was eight years ago that I was assigned a partner—a partner that, at the time, I didn't want. Now I can't imagine what my life would've been like without you."

"Then don't imagine it. Enjoy the reality we have."

"I will. How about dinner at the Casablanca Club—my treat?"

Illya blinked.

"That was where you took me for lunch just after I flew in from Berlin eight years ago."

"Yeah, I know," Napoleon said, with a smile. "Well?"

"I would be delighted."

They headed out the door, eager for the food and the company.

The mission report could wait.

 **The End**


End file.
